


Diorama

by Prawnperson



Category: Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists! (2012)
Genre: Dialogue for the scene belongs to Gideon Defoe, F/M, Green is a stage whispering idiot, POSES, Personal interpretation of that one scene in book 3, Pining, Scrawling descriptions like old novels used to have, Tension, The one I will never ever get over, Unresolved Tension, Victorian era, Wax Museums, dioramas, just so you know, so if you hate those this is not the fic for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prawnperson/pseuds/Prawnperson
Summary: Jennifer don’t do that you’ll kill him
Relationships: Jennifer/The pirate in green
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Diorama

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification: I am like 100% certain Jennifer is using the modern interpretation of the word ravish, which is just...hardcore sexy times

“Pretend to be in the middle of ravishing me.”

The pirate in green is doing as he’s told. This was per her instructions, specific and detailed, made up in a rush. They are in no way some sort of subconscious desire being tested and played out, and he knows this. He is aware of all of this.

None of which helps.

Jennifer’s soft, lithe body is pressed tightly against him, held against the wall. One arm is raised above her head, hand splayed out against the smooth stone, the other clutching at his shoulder, blunt nails digging into his skin through layers of thin shirt and vest. He has his own fists balled in her skirt, hitching it up to her thighs. The subdued rise and fall of her chest is a steady pressure against his front, all nerves crashing about in his chest. The look he’s trying to hold in place is meant to be louche and daring, but he has a feeling it’s coming across more like a frightened deer. Not even taking breaths will help, every one only serving to make his motions noticeable or fill his head with the smell of the soap she uses.

She is angled at the perfect position for him to kiss her neck.

There’s a definite tightness in his throat as his cheeks turn pinker, struggling to keep himself silent as nervous ramblings threaten to rise from him. With the closeness between them, he could count the dark flecks of freckles sprinkled along the bridge of her nose, or the lines of gold that thread through the brilliant green of her iris. Beating heatedly, her pulse can be felt beneath the exposed skin of her thighs, blood thrumming on the verge of audibly within the heavy silence. Her backside shifts as though she’s trying to get comfortable in a theatre and not betraying in any way a sliver of nervousness. The pirate in green no longer has the will power nor the self restraint necessary to keep his mouth shut.

“Jennifer?”

She remains as calm as the moon, her lips only parting the slightest bit to show a line of white.

“Sssh.”

“What if one of the bees comes and lands on my nose?”

The leaf green eyes that have been sharpened by adrenaline fix him with a gaze that could melt through steel if she willed it so.

“What are you talking about?”

The wobble of his legs becomes apparent as he strains to brace her in the awkward position without shifting. As if she understands, she tilts her hips the tiniest fraction to press her stomach to his front. The pressure is just enough to make out the beading that decorates her dress, minuscule costume pearls rolling in time with her breath.

She could have asked him to do anything. Pretend to be a dead body. Act like a kidnapped naval soldier. Feign a drunken stupor. She has just as many blades and belts and cuts as the rest of them, she could certainly pass as a wonderful piratical statue on her own. Even at a stretch, she could strike a pose suggesting themes of exotic charm or royalty and pass herself off as a poorly placed exhibit, a figure popped into the wrong diorama.

Why this?

“It’s just I’m allergic to bees...”

Her jaw tightens sternly, tensing up and narrowing her eyes as the knees bracketing his ribs dig in with a sharp little jolt that drags a light hiss out of him. He doesn’t like that the sensation of stinging pain is not entirely displeasurable. 

“Shut. Up.”

Commanding and harsh tones meld well to the clear, well polished clarity of her accent, leaving him with no choice but to obey and snap his mouth shut, resuming the rakish, heated look from moments before. She assumes a complementary one of desire, maybe even coy pleasure, shell pink lips parted in a languid slip of a smile that makes her cheeks tinge a fetching shade of red.

Any efforts made to keep them inconspicuous are quickly dashed. One of the women—the taller of the pair with slightly darker streaks mingling with the gold of her hair—peers suspiciously at Jennifer, tracing the line of her body as though searching for any visible tremble or flush. Warmth coming from her nerves pours from her in even waves, little pulses of heat through the fabric of her clothes. Whenever she speaks, she is close enough to have her breath tickle the skin on his cheek. 

He is beyond miles thankful when they move on, hoisting the figures of crowned heads under their scarred arms and disappearing down the dark hallway, leaving as soon as they came.

Narrowly avoiding capture is far from the most nerve wracking thing that happened, he thinks.

The pirates, breathing a collective sigh of relief, drop their swords and roll out their stiff necks. Jennifer squirms in his grasp until he remembers what’s keeping her pinned and lets her down. The short heels of her boots hit the scuffed tile floor with a clicking noise. Soft, pale flesh only slightly squeezed by garters remains exposed for only a moment more until layers of red and cream taffeta fall to cover her modesty again. He can’t help but feel abominably guilty for looking in the first place.

“That was close.”

She sighs, smoothing down the folds in her dress skirt with a few deft flicks of her wrist. Although he can’t be certain as to why, the pirate in green is certain that Jennifer seems a little bit let down. He will chalk it up to wishful thinking and bury it deep in his mind to only think about whenever the fog of sleep is close around his head, beckoning him in with the promise of delicate, balmy dreams that fail to strike a truly piratical note where Jennifer is his and he is hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments are much appreciated!


End file.
